by Amanda Adair
“Hey,” I say, trying to drown out the music. It’s a Spotify playlist but this account doesn’t have a premium membership, so instead of a song we’re now listening to a guy promoting a language learning app for students. “I’m Aspen. And this is Sofia, my cousin.”
“Hi,” Sofia says. “Nice house.”
Blaize is tall and he has cute brown curls. No, actually his short hair is wavy rather than curly. They’re short in the back and fall on his forehead in the front. I just hope he’s not as crazy as Tansy. I hate looking at her now. Her flawless doll-like appearance. Her smile. I know what’s beyond her façade. Her viciousness. Her cruelty. Her witchcraft or whatever this is that hurts others when she tells a story. She’s fooling others into believing she’s a nice girl.
She’s fake.
“Hey,” Blaize says. “Nice to meet you two.” Then he looks at Sofia. “And yeah, it’s a nice place. We’re lucky we found this house.”
He’s lucky that his father, the TV personality, can afford it and that is mother allows him to invite so many of his classmates he doesn’t even know yet. I know the couple who’s lived here before. Two retirees who were architects. My dad knew them.
“Do you live here with your parents?,” Sofia asks.
“With my mother,” Blaize answers. “My dad’s in New York.”
He has a smile that makes girls fall in love. The kind of smile that shows off his perfect white teeth and his cute dimples. His eyes light up when he smiles. Sometimes Remi was smiling like that, but he was a rather serious guy. Not as charming as guys like Blaize. He could become a politician, maybe even president. He’s the type of guy that looks like a cute bad boy with his hoodie and sneakers but put him in a suit and some proper black leather shoes and he’ll look and act like a young congressman.
“Blaize,” Tansy says and puts her arm around his waist, “just told us there’s a pool behind the house.”
That is what annoys me with guys like Blaize. Prince Charming. They’re always touchy and close with many girls. They’re allowing all of them the pretty girls to put their arms around them or hug them, even cuddle with them. Most of those charming boys sometimes flirt with girls they aren’t into. Like Remi and his friends did with Sage long before her glow-up. They would make those girls fall for them, either so they could laugh at them or get confirmation for their popularity. Blaize does it for approval. Remi and his friends just wanted to be entertained by the shy girls they’ve approached. Maybe this is why Sage and Remi have always been acting weird around each other. I guess she could never forgive him for making fun of her.
“Nice,” Sofia says.
“Wanna go outside?,” Tansy asks looking at my cousin.
Sofia then looks at me. “Not now,” she says. Does she refuse to go because I don’t want her to or because she understands that Tansy’s dangerous?
“Why not?,” I say. “You love swimming.”
Sofia looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Okay.”
I see Tansy and Sofia walking towards the patio door. I watch Tansy as she puts her purse onto the ground next to Sofia’s. They strip down to their underwear and jump into the pool that glitters in the sunlight.
“Lucas, hey,” Blaize says and walks past us.
I turn towards Sage and Cris. “I need you to help me get Tansy’s purse.”
“Why?,” Cris asks.
“I found a wristband in Finna’s hospital room,” I explain. “I’m sure it’s Tansy’s. We need to know why she told us these stories and why they turn out to be true. Why she can predict the future.” I say we on purpose. This isn’t about me. I wasn’t hurt yet. We know Tansy’s doing something and we need to stop her.
“There’s lots of people in here,” Sage says. “We can’t steal her purse.”
“Not steal,” I say. “I’m gonna search her bag.” I turn around and look at the hallway that is empty. Most of Blaize’ guests are outside now watching Sofia and swim and some sit on the couch. “In the bathroom,” I add. “Just make sure nobody notices, okay?”
They both nod but I can see it in their faces that they’re not okay with me going through Tansy’s belongings. I grab their hands and lead them outside. A few girls and boys have joined Sofia and Tansy. They’re splashing around and they’re laughing. No one’s looking in my direction.
I grab her purse and hurry inside.
The people sitting on the couch are talking and not looking up when I enter the hallway next to the kitchen. I open a few doors until I finally find the bathroom. Why can’t private houses have those typical restroom signs on the door? The bathroom is as modern as the rest of the house. It has a huge window, so I don’t dare to turn on the lights. I can even see the pool from in here. That way I know if they all decide to go back inside. But I could also be seen.
I lock the door and use the light of my phone to search her bag. The first thing I grab is hand lotion. Green tea lotion. There are sunglasses, lipstick, earphones, a calculator, her keys, rouge and a tablet. I could’ve known that her phone isn’t in here. She must have it with her.
I grab her Louis Vuitton wallet and open it. There’s an American Express, some blue card from a frequent-flyer program of a European airline, a Tommy Hilfiger membership card, fifty Dollars, and her ID. The photo on her ID is as flawless as her real face. Her hair is light blonde on here, not gold blonde as it is now. I only know a few people with such a pretty photo ID. According to her ID and driver’s license she is a little taller than me and we almost have the same weight.
But her name is different.
Instead of Tansy it says Tana Sydney, which isn’t so shocking considering that Tansy is obviously short for Tana Sydney. She’s a liar anyway. She’s been lying to all of us the whole time.
Her last name isn’t Walsh.
I try to understand why someone would suddenly attend a high school in the neighboring town after having been homeschooled for years. Why she would go with a fake last name. Why she would play a game with us that gets one of us killed and one severely hurt. This if proof that she has something to do with all of what has happened. With my phone I take a photo of her ID.
On all of these plastic cards stands the name Tana Sydney Rhodes. On her driver’s license, on her credit card and customer cards. This girl isn’t who she claims she is.
She isn’t Tansy Walsh.
Maybe it’s her father’s last name. She told us she couldn’t go to a regular school because of her mom, so I assume she lives with her mom. Her driver’s license isn’t even from Connecticut. It says Massachusetts. At least her age is correct. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were a forty-something-year-old lunatic who pretends to be a high school student.
I try to unlock her iPad but you either have to enter a code or use your fingerprint. I remember several TV shows and movies that have emerged after the invention of fingerprint sensors for smartphones. It’s become a trend in these shows to off a corpse’s index finger to unlock a phone, so they can gather information about something or pretend like the dead is still alive by posting on Facebook or send messages on behalf of this person.
When I look up I see that there’s no one outside anymore. There’s no one on the terrace and the meadow. I get up and walk to the window. The pool’s empty as well. Shit, I mumble. I hurry to put her things back into the purse and open the door. I look right into Tansy’s eyes.
“That’s mine I suppose,” she says and snatches her purse from me. Her hair’s wet and her body is covered in what looks like a blanket. I guess she’s wearing her underwear underneath. I should’ve known they’d go to the bathroom to grab a towel or shower afterwards.
She’s not alone. Blaize, Sofia and Trisha are standing right behind her. Sofia’s hair is also wet, and she’s covered in a different blanket, a smaller one. “We were looking for her purse. Why do you have it?,” Trisha asks. “We thought it was stolen.”
What am I supposed to say? Nothing I could say would explain why I took her purse and locked myself into Blaize’
bathroom. I’m staring into their eyes while thinking of an explanation for my weird behavior.
“We have similar bags,” I finally say. We actually do. “Mine’s black as well. I think I grabbed it accidentally.” Mine is a black Burberry tote. Hers is a black Michael Kors tote. The only difference is that her tote comes with a huge logo in the front and gold-tone hardware. To be honest, they don’t look alike at all. Maybe in the dark. But my Burberry bag doesn’t have any golden details and the logo’s barely visible.
“Your bag is in the car, Aspen,” Sofia says. I don’t blame her for making me look even more guilty. She doesn’t know of my plan.
“Sorry,” I say, “I totally forgot. Here you go.” I hand her the bag and go away.
When walking past them I hear Trisha say, “you should check if she stole something.”
Sofia follows me. “Aspen, wait.”
“Where are Sage and Cris?,” I ask. And why didn’t they warn me?
“They’re upstairs,” she says. “They have some kind of panorama attic where you can watch the stars.”
The whole evening people keep staring at me. I’m sure Trisha, Tansy and whoever else saw me coming out of the bathroom with Tansy’s purse, have told everyone by now that I’m a thief. I’ve found what I was looking for. I just want to go home and find out more about Tana Sydney Rhodes, the girl who killed my boyfriend and who’s probably going to kill me.
chapter 15
It took Tansy a day to let everyone at Horace Blake know that I’m the worst person on earth. Rumor has it that both of my parents lost their jobs and we’re broke, so that’s why I started stealing. I thought my reputation was solid and unchanging. Bulletproof so to say.
I don’t care.
At least I think I can set the record straight. I’ve never been the victim of a false testimony ever before. I can’t blame Tansy and those who witnessed me holding her purse in my hand. It isn’t exactly a lie that I took her purse but it’s a lie that I wanted to steal it. I’m not broke, and I don’t need anyone else’s belongings. I just wanted to know what she’s hiding and who she is. She shouldn’t have come to Seneca and Horace Blake. She should’ve stayed in Cherokee for the sake of everyone in town.
“Don’t let this get to you,” Sofia says and sits down next to me.
Five minutes ago she tried to wake me up. I’m awake but I’m not yet ready to leave my bed. Yesterday someone put his bag under his chair when I walked past. He said, “sorry, but I don’t want you to seize the moment.” I rolled my eyes and told him Tansy and I have similar bags. Yesterday I felt like a stage play that no one wanted to see but they were forced to.
“I have to show you something,” I say.
She looks at me like she wants to say, no, not again. Yesterday when we got back home from Blaize’ little party I was too tired and annoyed to show her the pictures. Now I grab my phone and hold the screen in front of her face. “Tana Sydney Rhodes,” I say. My voice is weak as I’m still tired and limp.
“Is that her ID?,” she asks.
“Why do you think did I take Tansy’s purse?,” I say. “Hers is cheaper than mine. There’s nothing I would want to steal.”
“No,” she say and shakes her head, “I didn’t think you were stealing anything. I know you. I expected this to be some kind of investigation. I just thought it was a bit too obvious.”
It wouldn’t have been so obvious if Sage and Cris had been more attentive. Cris texted me but she forgot to deactivate airplane mode, so I never got her text. I thought they would knock at the door or something. Then I could’ve just place the purse in the hallway.
I show Sofia the pictures and news articles. She takes some time to process the input. I can see it in her face that she’s getting worried as well.
“Okay, this is definitely strange,” she says.
The thing is that her stories weren’t as creepy as mine, for example. None of her secrets were revealed. And maybe she doesn’t believe that she might actually have to move to Manila. That her parents could be in danger.
“We’re meeting with Sag and Cris after school,” I say. “At Watson’s.”
Sage doesn’t pick us up today. She hasn’t done it in a while. Cris can’t take one of her parents’ care in the morning, so her dad’s driving her to school. Before the English lesson starts I try to clear my name. Tansy’s sitting alone at a table in the back of the classroom. I stop in front of her and bend forward.
“Tana Sydney,” I say and watch her expression go from relaxed to nervous. “Listen, you know exactly what I’ve done with your purse. If you still want to be our friend you should come clean at some point.” I pause. “And for now you can help me convince everyone that their belongings are safe when I’m around.” She doesn’t say anything, so I add, “or else I’ll have to tell them your real name.”
“Tansy is a nickname,” she says and plays with her curls.
“Rhodes,” I say. “Massachusetts. Hawkins Valley Summer Camp.”
“I have nothing to hide,” she claims. “But as a friend I’m willing to help you out.”
“Follow me,” I say and lead her outside the classroom and to the restroom where there’s a full-length mirror. I instruct her to get her phone and take a mirror selfie of us. I hold my black tote next to hers.
“And now I’m supposed to agree with your story of having mixing up our bags?,” she asks.
“Do you have Instagram?,” I ask. I expect her to say no, but she nods. “Then post it.” I sound as bossy as never before. But I need her to understand that she can’t just show up and mess with our lives.
Tansy nods and posts the picture. Back in the classroom I read the caption. Apparently we have the same style. In love with black totes. With @aspenvarela.
I comment on the photos with a black heart emoji. Tansy only has five photos online, mostly photos of New York, a coffee mug next to her laptop, or the beach. I’m sure her account was once filled with selfies and photos with friends. She isn’t the type of girl who avoids social media. I share our mirror selfie in my stories and let everyone know we’re friends now. And that I’m neither a thief nor a liar. I expect her to join us during lunch, so I’m not surprised that she sits next to me a few hours later.
“I’m thirsty,” I say looking at Sage.
“K.” She gets up and follows me to the shelf with the water bottles and energy drinks. I’m not sure why Horace Blake is allowed to sell us unhealthy sugar bombs, but I guess they’ve signed some advertising deal with a company.
“We can’t have her around when we talk about her at Watson’s,” I say even though I’m glad that the gossip about me stopped after she posted the photo and I shared it.
“We could tell her we’re going home after school,” Sage suggests and grabs two bottles of water. She hands me one.
“What if she sees us?,” I ask. “I found some photos in her purse.” For a moment I look at Tansy who’s talking to Sofia and Cris. “And Tansy Walsh isn’t her real name. It’s Tana Sydney Rhodes.” I hate myself for saying her name out loud so many times. For thinking about her so often.
“I have a friend,” Sage begins, “who hates his father, so he goes with the name of his mother.”
“Could be,” I say. “But trust me, it’s another reason.”
“Maybe her parents are famous, and she doesn’t want anyone to know,” she says. “There are plenty of possible reasons why someone uses another last name other than fraud.”
“I don’t think it’s another reason,” I say.
Without another word I start walking back to our table. I don’t get it why Sage and Sofia don’t take this seriously. Don’t they see what’s going on? They should be afraid of this girl. I am. But it’s because I have a lot to lose. The other girls are the victims in Tansy’s stories. But I am the perpetrator.
“We should visit Finna soon,” Cris says. “Tomorrow?”
We all nod, even Tansy. After we finish eating we put our empty trays away. We are about to
leave the cafeteria as I hear Mr. Westchester’s voice.
“Miss Graham,” he says, “we need to talk.”
Normally, the teacher receives a note instructing him to send us to the principal. Mr. Westchester never personally comes for a student. He walks away with Cris as the rest of us walks to class. Instead of Mrs. Boyd there’s a substitute teacher. Mrs. Baker. I know what’s happening. I can imagine what’s happening in Mr. Westchester’s office. I look at Tansy who’s sitting next to Sofia again. They both stare at the smartboard that’s covered with formulas and graphs.
chapter 16
As Cris, dressed in black jeans, black shirt and black boots, opens the door we all turn around. Her face is pale, and her cheeks are a little red as if she got upset. I knew it’s not a good sign to be asked to come to the principal’s office by the principal himself. She looks like she needs a hug but Cris isn’t the type of girl you should hug when she’s mad. You should listen to her outburst of hate speech and then tell her you’re on her side. That’s how you handle a furious Cristina Graham. She should come with a manual. With a loud bump she sits down on the spare seat. Her bag lands on the ground and a bottle rolls out of it. She doesn’t care.
Before she starts talking she looks at Tansy. “You knew.”
“I knew what?,” she asks.
“You knew about it and you told someone,” Cris says. She’s so angry that her breathe is loud and erratic. She swallows. “Why are you doing this to me? I was trying to be your friend. We were all nice to you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Tansy defends herself.
That’s what she said when Remi died. She didn’t do anything. It’s a lie. Everything she says is a lie. We can’t trust her.
“What happened?,” Sofia asks.
“You know only too well what I’m talking about,” she says and rolls her eyes. Whenever she’s angry she’s angry at everyone. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to help or supporting her. “We all know what happened. Because Tansy told us what’s about to happen.”